


upon silent wings

by raiyana



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood Kink, F/F, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: Thuringwethil hunts - or is she the hunted?
Relationships: Meássë/Thuringwethil (Tolkien)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14
Collections: Innumerable Stars 2020





	upon silent wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maitimiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maitimiel/gifts).



The Huntress was back in the dark forest, and she flew upon silent wings, following the trail of blood that lingered in the air mesmerizing the senses.

Dark, and red, and warm, as it dripped down skin that nearly shone in the light of the stars, flooded her mouth with its richness, pooling pleasantly on the tongue as she drank her fill.

Oh, yes, Thuringwethil could taste it already.

But her Huntress was almost coy in her brashness, slipping away from more than a glimpse here or there as she rode through the trees on one of the massive beasts the Master had bred.

Thuringwethil screeched for her quarry, listening to the echo as it painted stark greyness into shape in her mind, bringing with it warning of thorny branches and tangling, strangling vines.

The Huntress would have her bleed for her love, then.

Thuringwethil shivered in anticipation, diving silently towards the dark tangle of woods below, the baying of the giant black wolf hard against her sensitive ears.

“I know you want it, my sweet,” the Huntress crooned, holding up a hand that was as much starlight as flesh, the smell of her blood indescribably delicious.

Thuringwethil panted, struggling against the grip of thorns willing to rip her wings if she followed the scent too quickly.

“And you know what I want,” she added, leaning back against the great wolf’s side as she spread her legs, bringing down the sharp fang of her blade upon her thigh, carving another slash in her flesh that beckoned Thuringwethil closer, the frenzy of her hunger making her reckless as she moved, feeling the thorns scratch her leathery skin bloody and caring little.

She fell to her knees, burying her face in that sweet treasure, lapping up her rich prize as it mingled with the Huntress’ pleasure, making her own body quiver with desire.

But she would get that, later, she knew, for the Huntress was already wearing her harness, if she did well to please her with her tongue, did well at lapping up the joy of her successful hunt splashed across her skin, bringing the Huntress the satisfaction she craved after nights such as these.

The satisfaction that thrummed in Thuringwethil’s whole body, flooding her mouth and her senses with pleasure as her claws pierced soft flesh, releasing a new trickle of loveliness into her waiting mouth.

The Huntress moaned, strong hands pressing her face deeper, and Thuringwethil could not breathe, but did not care, lost in the sheer ecstasy of her task.

“You are eager, my pet,” the Huntress crooned, the words sweeter than the honey that flowed from her cunt. “But also slow-winged. Perhaps you need to be punished for your hesitancy.”

Thuringwethil moaned, wriggling in the Huntress’ strong grasp, her fingers fierce and bold as they sought her darkest places, opening the way but barely for the tool she would use to claim Thuringwethil’s pleasure soon, take her joy in the moans she could never contain when the Huntress joined with her body, licking her own blood from Thuringwethil’s fangs.

“Yes, my sweet,” the Huntress continued. “Drink your fill. And then I shall have mine.”


End file.
